


Delicious Inquiries

by LePipi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LePipi/pseuds/LePipi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of humorous (and maybe not) oneshots about the dads, the first being a coffee shop au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A barista was less than an ideal job for anyone, let alone a man long past his mid-life crisis and onto the inevitability of death crisis. Yet with the police record, and the jail time, it was the only acceptable and respectable job he managed to obtain. It was only luck that he lived in a fairly small town, else he was sure he would be homeless by now. Yet, he endured the ‘gramps’ and ‘you sound like a pirate’ and maybe even found the ‘you look like Santa’s endearing. All in all he had a blessing and stuck to it.

Now, as all small towns, his wasn’t immune to gossip. And being a divorced father who was an ex-con who was gay who was old who was a barista, he had to find a way to entertain himself. Gossip was fun, alright.

So when the rumors that a disgraced CEO of some big company had moved over there, he was paying attention. He didn’t even bother googling the name, he just thrived on hearing his coworkers go on and on about all the scandals he’d orchestrated. How he’d spread lies that his brother had only bastards for children, how he wanted his position, how his daughter was a result of his ex-wife having an affair with a deranged fellow, how his child had the devil’s stamp on her face for all his sins, how he was rumored to be ‘dysfunctional’…

It all sounded wild. And utterly unbelievable. But, fun to hear, nonetheless. As if they were concocting a script for a soap opera and pitching it next week, the stories only grew in number and detail.

And then he’d came in.

It had to be him, because who else wore a full on suit at 11 AM on a Sunday? Disgraced CEO’s did.

And as he made his way over, Davos had been too concentrated on his own tale, of how he’d been so distraught over losing his position that he went a bit mental and he’d started wearing his suit all day and night, and maybe even sleeping in it, though it was in a too pristine shape to be, or perhaps-

And then a little yelp startled him out of his would be juicy information for the guys and gals for Monday.

The most precious squirrel headed girl was peaking at him from the counter.

It was them alright.

The birthmark did cover a good half of her face. Yet to call it a devil’s stamp? Far too cruel and undeserving for a child with the biggest, darkest blue eyes he’d seen.

Following a not at all subtle clearing of throat he was proved wrong, and met with the truly darkest _and_ deepest set of blue eyes he’d ever seen.

“Good morning to yo-“

“A black coffee to go and a menu of available pastries, please.”

A sort of still aggravation feel on Davos as he was interrupted. So he went on.

“ _Good morning_ to you, _sir,_ and good morning to you, little lady.” He bit the first part but had to gentle it down, for the sweetest smile was sent his way.

“Good morning to you too, sir.” And she had manners, too! Imagine that.

A hand came to gently pat her on the shoulder, having both her and child look up to the man, who he found was smiling approvingly at the girl. Weird, yet sweet.

“I would like a black coffee to go and a menu of the available pastries, _sir.”_ There was no rush in the man’s voice this time, though a sort of insolence was still present.

“Right then.” He turned his back on them, and spoke while preparing the coffee.

“The menu of available pastries states that available pastries include: croissants, croissants with strawberry filling, croissants with berry filling, croissants with chocolate filling, croissants with vanilla filling, croissants with chocolate _and_ vanilla filling, and bagels. “

“No filling?” The dead snark made him snort. He turned with a smile, yet the man remained frowning.

“No filling.” He deadpanned back, smiling still.

“May I have the strawberry one, father?” _Father._ Only the pretentiously rich would make a child address them as such.

“Of course, princess.” Yet the man was sweet.

And aggravating.

And so he found himself giggling in the back as he wrote out a message on the man’s coffee cup that read ‘u look like a sexy hawk I’d let ravage me’.

He figured if it scares him: good.

If it confuses him: better.

If it interests him: best.


	2. Phone Sex Operator AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis finds himself in need of company. He just might get it.

It was a lonely Saturday night for one Stannis Baratheon, who was in fact never lonely, for to recognize loneliness one has to have known companionship. His ex-wife and daughter do not count.

Stannis wasn’t experiencing loneliness that fateful Saturday night, rather a sort of gnawing despair that that came annually and was situated between his legs. That hunger gave him Shireen so he wasn’t angry with it. He was exasperated.

The divorce was fresh and the building he moved into was a shabby ancient sort, that creaked and echoed with every sound. It was fairly respectable though, something about some famous family building it. He didn’t care for that information, for it was a kitchy attempt at looking like a castle. It didn’t. It was fairly empty and the nearby sea was loud.

He’d met some of the tenants, yet failed to strike up any sort of friendly relation with any of them. And with good reason, too.

There was an apparently ‘troubled’ fat tattooed man that spoke in song and riddles, who Shireen loved, much to his dismay. Though Shireen’s visit were sparse and he tried to make them as enjoyable as he could, he’d let their interaction go on. For Shireen’s sake.

Then came Melisandre and her redness, who never failed to open her door whenever he found himself in her hall. Always dressed in various red dresses, made like a beauty and eager to have him over. In his current disposition he might have even gone over to her. Yet, her cultish nature warned him off. Even Davos warned him against her.

Davos was his neighbor, a fisherman that worked by the shore and was always close to his place of business. He was… a weird sort. When he came to bid him welcome to the building he brought a basket of onions. And a fish pie. Men make due with what they have, and yes, the pie was delicious and onions sweet, yet there was a strange kindness to him. An eagerness, perhaps. It didn’t sit well with him.

Mulling over all this didn’t quench his desire and the television wasn’t doing much to distract him. Neither did the constant flow of music from his neighbor’s apartment.

And then to make matters worse, the power went out.

One minute it’s the dull voice of the anchor about awful things happening all over, always and forever, and then total darkness, total quiet.

“Fucks sake!” Came the unmistakable accent of Davos.

He resigned to sigh and stare at the ceiling while various rummaging noises of frustration came next door.

Still, he ached.

And so, he did what was left to do.

He went to his bedroom, locked the door on instinct, and fished out his phone. He only hesitated for a moment, for hesitation is for those who lack courage or are shamed, and he was neither of those things. He had a need, and there was a service that could provide it. None were harmed for it was an abstract sort of service that was provided.

 It was _just._

So he called the already familiar number. If shame were to come, then it would be later, and he would let it pass and not fight it, for emotions were irrational and out of his control. Then came the awfully sultry and not at all sexy recorded voice.

“Hello, handsome. Press one for a chat with a mistress or press two for a beefcake.”

It was nauseating really, yet it was the only service he could find that was both legal and could confirm they were paying their employees fairly. So he endured and pressed two.

“Thank you _sooo_ much, hot stuff, you’ll be connected _in a pinch_. If you desire a different _stud_ press three.”

He knocked his head against the headboard just to elevate some of the frustration. Better.

“Hey there.” Came a gruff and low voice that jolted him straight. It was… admittedly nice. Last time he’d done this it was a young voice, soft and silky. He liked him just fine. Perhaps this one would be just as well.

“Not much of a talker, are ye?”

“No, I-“ Curse his tendency to be reserved, which came naturally and wasn’t his fault, and it was _just_ that he was reserved.

“I’m not.” He settled on that.

The responding chuckle felt somehow genuine, yet he chased that thought away, for these were professionals and he was a customer, and so it was.

“That’s alright. Tell me, what do you want to hear? How I’m lounging in a bath after a hard day’s work or how lonely it is here, in this dark apartment with only your voice to help me out?” Whoever he was, he was creative. He’d never been really encouraged to participate actively. Sure, there were the questions and ‘should I go on’s and ‘you’re over your 20 minutes’s, yet this was different and… exciting.

“How does _my_ voice play into this?” So, he decided to entertain the idea.

“You’ve got this low, guttural sound to you, makes me think of a serious man in a suit, taking his tie off for me as I lay spread wide for him. For _you._ ”

“You got the serious part correct, I suppose.”

“You suppose, don’t you? And what about me? Laying wanton, daydreaming about a strong and _serious_ man to disrobe and kiss and _oh gods_ the things I’d do to you.”

They were getting somewhere. The pressure bellow his stomach felt heavier and lower.

“What _would_ you do?”

“I’d grab you by the belt, pull you close, get you _wet._ You’d scold me for your nice pristine trousers. But my mouth on your cock will make you _gasp,_ mouth at you through cloth, only wanting to get you hard for me, thinking of getting your red head in my mouth, _oh gods_ , to only get a taste of you-“

The man was doing his job well, yet a slam next door made him gasp.

“Are you getting there, baby? Am I doing well? Is your cock ready for me?”

“Don’t- not baby.”

“Aww, sorry handsome, I get carried away like this, I don’t watch my mouth, you have to give me something to occupy it… Tell me how ye’re gonna do that?”

Something was… off.

“I’d… Tell me what you’d do for me… to silence you.”

“I’d _beg._ I’d beg for that cock, I’d beg for you to let me taste and kiss and lick, to choke on you, to swallow your cum, smear my lips with you-“

Well. There it was.

“Forgive me for stopping you, but, Davos, is that you?”

“Yes.”

“This is Stannis Baratheon from next door, I couldn’t help overhearing your voice from the other side.”

“Oh. Oh, Stannis!?”

“I’m here!” He yelled in response to the wall.

“Oh. Want to come over!?”

“Yes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is way unsexy I have no idea how these things work, I was going for funny more so yeah, also SEND ME PROMPTS

**Author's Note:**

> To get myself back into writing the extensive and complicated stavos fic I'm going to need your kudos comments and PROMPTS! So, please do deliver us from writer's block.


End file.
